Even so, a part of him thought he deserved it.
The hate comments, the death threats—for some reason, a part of him accepted them without struggle. Without resistance. As if he had been expecting this all along.
There were instances where he even thought of ending his life.
His desperation and his desire for revenge had pushed him to do something he hadn't even imagined before—something that went against everything he believed in.
But where did that desperation come from?
Growing up, he had witnessed the abuse his mother suffered at the hands of his father. The man would come home drunk, his face flushed red with alcohol and rage. Then he would vent his frustration on his mother, beating her to a pulp while Yang watched from the corner of the room, hidden by his mother's desperate attempts to keep him safe.
Helpless. Powerless.
